Winning Control
by sardonicferret
Summary: Harry was going to meet someone at midnight, in front of the Great Hall. It was only to do what was expected of him, and unfortunately, the person that was expecting something from him was the last person he wanted to give himself to.


He knew why he'd arrived in front of the Great Hall so quickly, and why he had stealthily done so. He was eager. Eager to meet someone. That someone was supposed to be here two hours past school curfew, which was now. Midnight.

He saw a dark figure coming from around one the corridors leading away from the large staircase. His heart skipped a beat as he fought to swallow a heavy lump in his throat. The person was approaching, and he honestly had no idea why he was so nervous.

The black hood covering the figure's face was pulled down by its wearer to reveal tousled, jet black hair and bright emerald eyes. A pair of black glasses fell halfway down the bridge of the boy's nose.

"Potter."

"Don't talk to me. Let's get this over with." Those enticing green eyes narrowed, and that's when he detected a small flicker of fear in the boy's eyes.

"As you wish."

He made his way forward, hand reaching out to grab onto Potter's own. Fingers entwined through the boy's shaking fingers as he pulled on them lightly. Potter followed him down one of the darker corridors; one with the least amount of dimly lit torches aligning the walls.

In the next moment, he had slammed the raven haired boy up against the wall, searing his lips with his own with as much force as deemed possible. Both of his hands were pinning Potters' arms over his head, the fingers curled in his hands digging into the boy's skin. Potter let out a startled and muffled yelp, but eventually allowed himself to endure the sudden sensation.

His tongue ran along the boy's lower lip, pushing against it eagerly, as a sign for him to open his mouth. Once the boy did so, he bit down on the same lip, earning a whimper from the Gryffindor.

He could feel heat pooling down south, and pushing his hips forward roughly in order to create more contact. His tongue twisted around Potter's as he began exploring every inch of the boy's mouth that he could reach. He could feel the boy reluctant to respond.

Hips bucked forward again, pressing hard against the boy's own and creating a hot and almost painful amount of friction. He groaned against Potter's lips, producing a brief vibration there.

He could hear Potter gasping as he was aligned with his lips, fighting to draw in a decent breath. He could feel his own chest rapidly rising and falling as it pushed up against Potter's. The continuous up and down movements of his hips grinding against the Gryffindor's sped up, which caused more of the involuntary moans to escape.

Soon he was able to feel the boy's length pressing against his own, and it was enough to send his head reeling in pleasure. Warm waves of it were moving throughout his entire body.

"Oh g-god..." he gasped, bucking forward again. It caused the Gryffindor to cry out. Each time he did it; he assumed the boy was feeling more pain than pleasure himself. No noticed was given to that for very long, however.

He could feel himself ready to release already, despite the bit of clothing that was blocking him from complete contact with the other boy's reaction. His face began to flush with heat as he breathlessly pushed forward, his hands still pinning the boy's arms sharply against the wall. Kissing had become impossible with the amount of deep gasping and fervent movements coming from the both of them.

Less than a minute or so later, he arched his hips completely forward, his head tilting back as he felt himself come. A loud, breathy moan left his parted, slightly swollen lips.

His hands fell to Potter's shoulders, letting the boy's arms fall to his sides. His head buried itself in the crook of the boy's neck, which was slicked in sweat. He stayed this way for a while, only aware of his and the Gryffindor's quick and shallow breathing.

"Finished?" Potter asked quietly, his voice sounding forced. He could still feel Potter pressing against the inside of one of his thighs.

"Yes."

And with that, the boy shoved him away and began making his way slowly down the hall with his head lowered. There was a slight difference to the way he was walking.

He stood there watching the boy walk away until he was out of sight. His lips, and daresay a spot lower down, were still tingling from the contact.

Draco had never believed that Potter would have agreed to make a bet with him. He guessed, as he had been enjoying his moment of complete control, that the boy-who-lived actually though he was going to win.


End file.
